For decades Haweswater and Riggindale were a LAKE DISTRICT stronghold, famously the home of England’s last golden eagle. It’s been over 8 years since the bird was last seen, but its presence still dominates the landscape.
I"ve loved the eastern Lake District’s Riggindale and its surrounding mountains since the first moment I laid eyes on them. There’s a compelling allure to the ridges that define the valley, one that I was soon to learn not only appealed to adventurous mountain walkers, but also to that shy, powerful monarch of our lonely places: the golden eagle.
Back in 1969, an approximately 150-year absence of that apex predator came to an end, when Scottish birds found their way south to the quiet fells around Haweswater. For the next 46 years, golden eagles were in residence on the crags above Riggindale, successfully raising young in 16 of those years, such are the perils and pressures on these surprisingly sensitive birds.
The RSPB was largely responsible for protecting the nest site from egg thieves and those that still clung to old-fashioned prejudices against these birds; namely that they’d take lambs, cats, dogs and even babies from cradles. It was these kind of reasons, along with the rise of grouse shooting and the obligatory heavy-handed keepering that goes on in such places, that eradicated golden eagles from England and Wales,pushing them up into the mountains of Scotland. Here they held firm, then as pressures eased the Lake District was blessed with avian royalty once again.
It was in 2015 when the only golden eagle left in England finally disappeared, or died, or presumably both. For years, he held a lonely vigil for a mate (I know the feeling!). I was lucky enough to see the last of Riggindale’s dynasty of eagles several times during those years. The sight was always special, these birds have that power. It was the last time which struck a real chord and, in a way, prompted the forthcoming pilgrimage into the heart of the eagles’ territory. Namely, Riggindale.
It was late spring, snow clung to the upper parts of High Street and the top of the Long Stile ridge. It was a little below this, at Caspel Gate, that we first saw the eagle soaring towards us from the south. No mistaking the thing, I see them regularly in Scotland, so it was with delight that I recognised the distinct profile.
Things got better though. The lonesome male eagle made its way over to the eastern entrance of Riggindale, then slowly glided up the valley, all the time getting lower and lower. I had a small pair of binoculars with me and, as you can imagine, they were in full use. Through them I watched and was filled with a high that not many legal things can induce, as I looked fully downwards onto the outstretched dark br
